


Icy Fingers and Warm Lips

by ACatWhoWrites



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth's getting married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icy Fingers and Warm Lips

The night before the wedding, Gilbert offered to buy Liz a drink. It turned into multiple rounds of beer and shots, each trying to drink the other under the bar. Finally, one of the other patrons—who was also on the guestlist of Liz’s wedding—kindly suggested the two get home. The bride being hungover at her own wedding was going to be bad enough. Gilbert was the best man.

Gilbert held the door of the bar open for Liz, who snorted at the show of chivalry but threw her nose in the air, exaggerating the image of a princess, albeit a drunk one, tripping over her own boots.

It was cold outside, being mid-December. They walked in companionable silence for a short while, then Gilbert found himself alone. Looking on either side of him, it wasn’t until a ball of semi-icy snow hit the back of his head that he realised Liz had fallen back and was ankle-deep in snow, digging her bare fingers into the shovelled banks and preparing for an all-out attack.

Grinning devilishly, he stepped off the path and took shelter behind a street lamp, grabbing a handful of snow in his glove and packing it tight. He leaned from his spot and frowned, not seeing the woman. Another ball of snow impacted with his head, this time right on his ear, and he shouted. Liz laughed and ran awkwardly behind the tree she had snuck to when Gilbert was occupied with his snowball.

Stealth was not an option; it was an all-out attack or a retreat. Gilbert never retreated.

They chased one another in the snow, throwing handfuls of snow at one another until Gilbert finally caught her by the wrist and shoved a fistful of snow down the back of her jacket. She shrieked and writhed in his grip, laughing, until she fell back against his chest to catch her breath.

They stood silently for a few moments, watching their breaths materialise as thin grey clouds in the frigid air. Gilbert had put his arms around her—to keep her from running away and staging another attack—but Liz made no move to run away.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Liz sighed.

Gilbert hummed a response, preoccupied with the snowflakes on her eyelashes.

She sighed again, letting her head fall back to his chest. Her hair tickled his chin, but he didn’t mind. Staring into the sky—lit grey by the city lights of Vienna—she smiled. “I love the snow. It’s so pretty.”

Liz revealed that she loved the cold and had always wanted a winter wedding.

Gilbert had no memory of any talk of marriages at all, at least nothing about either of them ever marrying. His earliest memories of the young woman were all of a scabby, lanky tomboy with missing teeth when she grinned down at him after pushing him out of trees or whacking his knuckles with sticks they had used as swords.

“Roderich always bitches about the cold.”

“He bitches about everything,” Liz chuckled fondly.

“He’s never said a single bad thing about you…”

Liz looked at him over her shoulder. She turned in his arms to face him, their bodies pressed together at the chest when she put her hands under the collar of his coat. Green eyes met scarlet, siding down his face to his pink cheeks where snowflakes settled and melted, to his set lips and his jaw, and finally to where her hands were under his jacket. She felt her ears flush hot. “I’m getting married tomorrow…”

“Yeah.”

She hadn’t meant for him to hear, but they were close enough to hear the other’s breathing.

Wanting to break the uncomfortable silence and staring, Liz pushed Gilbert roughly. He lost his balance entirely and landed on his butt in the snow. He glared at her, hands covering her mouth in a fit of drunken giggles, before nodding “Ha ha; laugh it up, _hexe_ ,” and extending his hand so she could help him him.

She took the offered hand and leaned back. His sudden pull threw her off balance and right on top of him, who clamped an arm over her back and rubbed snow across her neck, whispering vicious German in her ear. Liz laughed and squealed, trying to wriggle away. She managed to bring her hands up and drove a handful of snow into his face.

He tossed his head back and forth, relinquishing his hold on her to clear his face off with his gloved hands.

Liz scrambled to her feet and took off running through the snow. It was no easy feat, but Gilbert was not at an advantage for once by having longer legs as an adult. When they were kids, Liz had outgrown him until he was about 14, when he finally started to grow out a bit. Gilbert won his first race against her that summer, and she nearly threw a tantrum at his growth spurt, bemoaning the fact she would probably remain the same height forever.

Gilbert rolled onto his side, got his legs beneath him, and chased after her. He missed her wrist by inches, but they were near the shovelled pavement again. Lunging, he captured her around the shoulders and twisted, pitching both of them back-first into the snowbank.

The cold and the fighting in the snow sobered them up enough for Liz to comment on the time. A clock tower chimed in the distance. “We should head back before we catch cold.” She got up first, then pulled Gilbert out of the snow. She started rubbing her hands together, wrapping them in her scarf while they walked.

“You cold?”

Of course she was, but she wasn’t one to express any weakness, especially to her old rival. She couldn’t deny that she was surprised when the man removed his left glove and offered it to her. “What about the other one?” She waved her exposed, pink-tipped fingers.

Gilbert took her hand in his, slipping both into his pocket and pointedly ignoring the embarrassed blush that rose on Liz’s already pink cheeks, attributing the colouring to the cold. He justified the heat in his own cheeks to be windburn.

They walked in semi-comfortable silence until they reached the hotel Liz and Roderich had rented for their wedding reception as well as the designated place for their out-of-town guests to stay. Stepping into the lobby, Liz returned Gilbert’s glove but kept a hold of his hand in his pocket.

They held hands the entire elevator ride to the 7th floor.

They held hands for the walk down the hall to Liz’s hotel room.

They held hands until Liz stood on her toes to press her cold lips to Gilbert’s hot cheek. “Thank you for being here for me.” She released his hand and slipped quietly into her room.

He could still feel her breath on his ear when he returned to the room he shared with his brother, who was already passed out in bed. Settling his coat—now soaked through from the repeated tumbles in the snow—on the hook behind the door, he stripped quietly to his boxers, leaving his clothes and boots in an obvious trail to his bed. He crawled under the covers and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about all the wasted opportunities and potential that could have lead with him being in Roderich’s shoes.

He rolled onto his back, covering his head with his pillow and doing his best to not think about holding Liz that evening, how her eyelashes caught tiny snowflakes while she told the sky she was getting married.

«»

The next day, during the large reception in the hotel ballroom, Gilbert claimed his right as best man to kiss the bride. So what if it lasted longer than the kiss between the bride and her husband?

**Author's Note:**

> hexe - German, n. "witch"


End file.
